When I arrive at Logan Airport a few hours later, Omar is waiting for me at the terminal. He looks smart in his jacket and tie. I stare in his direction and for a moment I think, he has to be the most beautiful man I have ever seen: tall, dark, and handsome. I see his eyes widen as he catches sight of me, and I’m unable to say a word out of the sheer joy of seeing him. As he approaches, I can’t help myself from rushing into his arms. He laughs then wraps me in his embrace. Now my face is nuzzled into his neck, and I feel every nerve ending tingle. I inhale deeply.
We stand in silence, as he strokes my hair and I press my belly to his hips. He feels good. Suppressing the urge to tell him how I’m feeling, my gaze comes up and travels to his dark eyes then moves slowly to his slightly parted lips. It rests there for a moment. And I think about the feel of his lips on my skin and my heart starts to thump. My eyelashes flutter and I watch as his eyes scan my face. The corners of his mouth curves up and he gives me a heart-stopping smile. “You look beautiful,” he murmurs and dips his head and kisses me softly.
The kiss is brief, and when he breaks contact, I impulsively slide my hand down his muscled arm and smile up at him. “I’m happy it’s you and not the chauffeur,” I say breathlessly.
“Nonsense, I got out of my meeting early,” he murmurs then drops his hand from my face and squeezes me tightly. “I couldn’t stay away. I missed you!”
I stare at him, the walls in my chest expanding. I cannot believe my successful, businessman, of a fiancé, has changed his schedule for me. I blush from head to toe and I lean in closer and clasps his hand. “Good because I have something special planned for us when we get home.” I whisper.
Omar’s eyes darken, his interest is is clearly piqued and I can see that he wants me. Pleased with myself, I inhale deeply and take in his scent. It’s a mixture of patchouli and frankincense oil and something else uniquely him. I moan inwardly and my hands curl around his neck and I deepen the kiss this time.
He kisses me back. His tongue slides in between my lips, touches my teeth, and I make a sound in his mouth. My head buzzes. The leisure strokes of his tongue cause my grip to tighten, and before I know it, he lifts his head. Panting, he stares down at me.
“Kristen let’s not do this.” He pushes me away a little. “Not now …we’ll have plenty of time for that.”
Somehow the atmosphere between us changes and I hold myself up a bit straighter to lessen the rejection. His mood has made a 180-degree change. He’s gone from loving to serious to something else that I can’t place my fingers on. Shit! Something is wrong. He’s cutting off intimacy. The only reason I can think of is our child. He must think the miscarriage was some kind of divine judgment. I know that there are laws forbidding premarital sex in his religion. Maybe he thinks we’re being punished.
“Come,” he says and takes my hand. We head towards the sign that says airport garage. And as we cross the transit lounge, I think this is not the homecoming I had in mind. I peek up at him through my lashes, he has a myriad of emotions on his face that I can’t read. I can only hope that he’s not having second thoughts about us.
Staring up at him intently, I can see the tension in his face, and for a moment I think that maybe he’s angry. I open my mouth to say something but think better of it; I would only put myself in a vulnerable position. What if he doesn’t want to talk?
He looks down at me and his brow creases. I blink up at him trying to read his thoughts, meanwhile he’s giving nothing away, then suddenly he stops and pulls me into a corner, abruptly looking down at me, he lifts my chin up and frowns. His mouth compressed into a hard line.
What is it? I ask.
“Kristen, there’s been some changes,” he says. “I spoke with Umii and she suggested I get you a place until the wedding.” His dark eyes are searching mine, his expression bleak. “You don’t have to worry as soon as we’re wed, you’ll be back at my place. This is only temporary.”
My mouth drops. Oh fuck this can’t be good. “What about my things? Are they still at the penthouse?”
“No. I had your belongings taken to your new place. You’re not far from me.”
“This doesn’t make sense. Why would you want to pay for another apartment?”
He raises his eyebrows, amused. “Kristen, I’m a considerably wealthy man, this is nothing.”
Putting my hands in my pocket, I don’t answer. I look down at the ground so as not to make a scene. What did this separation mean? Perhaps he’s not sure about us, and whether we should go through with the wedding.
Sighing, I look past Omar’s shoulder. It was crazy of me to stay away from him this long. Therapy could have waited. I blame my family. My mother and sister put so much pressure on me. They said if I tried to leave town they’d admit me to a psychiatric ward. I shake my head. They actually thought I purposely drove my car into a pole. I tried explaining to them that it was a mistake, they wouldn’t believe me. Damn their meddling.
I breathe in deeply. I need to calm myself down. But I feel like my thoughts are everywhere and I can’t seem to get a handle on them.